


Almost an Oasis

by CoffeeWithConsequences



Series: Paper Tigers [3]
Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, Phone Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-25
Updated: 2018-04-25
Packaged: 2019-04-27 22:39:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,654
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14435637
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/pseuds/CoffeeWithConsequences
Summary: With the Fischer job stress building, Arthur can't sleep. From Australia, Eames offers stress relief.





	Almost an Oasis

**Author's Note:**

> This story was not supposed to happen! I am working on a more complete next installment for the [Paper Tigers](https://archiveofourown.org/series/985980) universe, and intended this as a writing warm-up. It took on a mind of its own, though, so I thought I'd go ahead and share it. Chronologically, this would be after [The Body Is His Book](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14187009). That said, it ought to be easily readable on its own. 
> 
> Pure smut.

“Goddammit!” Arthur hurled his body once more from the right to the left side of the hard hotel bed. He couldn’t see the digital clock without his contacts, but he knew it had to be after three. He’d been trying and failing to sleep for at least two hours.

It wouldn’t be so bad if it weren’t the fifth or sixth night in a row. While insomnia was nothing new--to Arthur or to anybody in dreamshare--a couple of Xanax usually took care of it. This week, Arthur had sampled everything he had on him, and he was still awake. 

It was the job, of course. After Evil-Mal sabotaged Cobol (which meant, in reality, that Dom sabotaged Cobol, and wasn’t that a cheerful fucking thing to consider?), Arthur’s life went from a muddled fucking mess to an actual cesspool. Now they were going to attempt inception, with a dangerous and over-involved client, a green architect, and Eames.

Eames, to whom Arthur had shown his weakness. Eames, who had taken it all away for a while, made Arthur stop thinking and only feel. Eames, who, after all these years, had been exactly what Arthur needed, when he least expected it.

Arthur turned onto his back and did the calculation immediately, before he could stop himself. 3am in Paris meant 11am for Eames in Sydney. It wouldn’t be unreasonable to give Eames a call and check in on how things were going with Browning. If he was actually doing it because he was bored and restless and angry and couldn’t sleep and wanted Eames’ voice in his ear, there was no reason anybody had to know that.

Before he could talk himself out of it, Arthur grabbed his phone and, squinting at the screen, made the call. Eames answered on the third ring. “Arthur? What’s happened?” 

“No, nothing’s wrong. Just calling for a status update.”

There was a brief pause. “It’s the middle of the bloody night in Paris. You want an update now?” Eames sounded suspicious.

Arthur sighed. “I’m not sleeping anyway, so I figured I would call you now and get it out of the way.” 

“Still not sleeping?” They’d spoken a few days earlier, and Arthur had mentioned the insomnia, seeking drug combination suggestions.

Arthur sighed again. “Yeah. Nothing’s helping.”

“Hang on a second.” Arthur heard the noises of Eames moving around, walking, a door opening and closing. “Sorry about that. Wanted to get out of earshot of any gawkers. Now, how many nights has it been?” There was a measure of authority in Eames’ voice, something brisk, that sent an unexpected jolt through Arthur.  


“Five, I think. Maybe six?”

“That’s too many. We need to get you some rest. None of the pills helped?”

“No. And taking any more is going to react with the Somnacin.”

“Right. What about wanking?”

“What? Eames, Jesus.”

“It’s a perfectly legitimate question, Arthur. And the simplest possible solution to the problem. Please don’t tell me you haven’t tried it already.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Of course I’ve fucking tried it. Every night.”

He heard Eames’ smile. “Won’t mind pondering that for a bit.”

“Eames…” Arthur tried to make his voice warning, but in truth, he liked the idea that Eames thought about him jerking off. 

And the bastard was just perceptive enough to get that, even over 10,000 miles. Eames dropped his voice lower. “In fact,” he said, “I’m going to think about it right now.”

Arthur swallowed. He thought he knew where this was going. If he forced honesty on himself, he knew that’s what he’d wanted when he picked up the phone, and no good could possibly come of it. But it was dark, and he was tired, and lonely, and he wanted it to go away, just for a while. He forced his voice to calm before he spoke. “And what are you thinking?”

Eames chuckled. “There it is,” he murmured. “Oh Arthur, you never have to make up a reason to call.”

Arthur glared into the dark. “I didn’t--”

Eames interrupted. “Of course not,” he said smoothly. “Tell me, are you in your bed?”

“Yes.” Arthur made no effort to keep the sulk from his voice.

Eames chuckled again. “Alright. What are you wearing to sleep?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “Did you seriously just ask me what I’m wearing?”

Eames gave a long-suffering sigh. “This will work better if you play along, darling.”

“Fine. Boxers and a t-shirt.”

“Alright. Here’s what you’re going to do. Put the phone on speaker and set it down. Then get your kit off and lay on the bed on your back.” His voice had that brusque tone again, efficient and commanding.

Arthur did as he was told. He was already at least half-hard. It usually took a bit more than that, especially since he’d already jerked off a few hours earlier. Fucking Eames.

“I’ve been thinking,” Eames said conversationally, “about fucking you in Seoul. About how bad you wanted it. About how easy it was to get you off. Tell me, Arthur, is your prick already hard? Are you touching it, or is it just my voice that has you already in a cockstand?”

Arthur considered fighting it for a half-second, but he was already in, and it was already working. “Yes,” he said softly, his mouth close to where the phone lay on the bed. “I’m hard. I’m not touching myself.”

“Good,” Eames replied. “Don’t. Not yet. Start at the top. Run your hands through your hair.”

Arthur raised both hands to his head and ran them through his hair. It was already a mess from the tossing and turning he’d been doing, the day’s pomade loosened.

“Don’t just do it quickly,” Eames went on. “Notice what you’re doing. Pay attention to your fingers on your scalp, to how the pressure feels. Pay attention to the hair under your fingers. Work out all of that slicked back nonsense. Make it feel like you’ve been fucking.”

Arthur concentrated a moment, rubbing both hands back and forth, his fingers pushing against his scalp, then pulling through the thick strands. 

“Next time, I am going to hold on to that hair while I fuck your mouth,” Eames said, using that low voice again. “It’s curly under all that shit you put on it, right? I’m going to tangle my hands up in those curls, mess it all up while I shove my cock down your throat. Tighten your hands. Pull harder. Imagine your mouth around my cock.”

Arthur leaned back into the pillow, fisting his hands tighter in his hair and pulling experimentally. He closed his eyes and let his mouth fall open, licking his lips and calling to mind Eames’ thick cock, imagining the soft skin and bitter liquid on his tongue. He made a small noise.

“Good,” Eames said. “Now run your hands down your body. Over your arms, down your chest, over your thighs. Don’t touch your cock, just notice your muscles. I bet you’re all tensed up, all coiled like a snake. I want you loose for me, all flexible and willing, the way you were when I fucked you.”

Eames was correct, Arthur felt his lean muscles all tense in his arms and thighs, his chest rising and falling quickly with his short breath. He started to try to tell Eames this, but fumbled his words. 

Eames again interrupted. “It’s OK. You don’t need to talk. I’ve got it. Knead your shoulders with your hands, then your upper arms, then your lower ones. Do it hard, like I’d do it. I want you relaxed. When I spread you out, your whole body will melt into the bed. I’m going to work everyone of those muscles with my tongue. Chew on your shoulders, lick down your neck, suck on your nipples.” Eames’ breath caught a bit, but he continued. “You’ve got those long thighs. I want to open them up and rub my face up the insides. Get your skin all pink and sensitive, then close your legs and fuck between them. I think you’d like that.”

Arthur hands were on his thighs, squeezing the muscles hard, rubbing his thumbs in circles on the skin. He imagined Eames’ face there, his bristling stubble making the patterns his thumbs were tracing. He breathed in hard enough to be heard on the phone.

“Good boy,” Eames murmured. “You’re doing just what I tell you to.” Normally, Arthur would bristle at being called “good boy”--praise was not his kink. But it didn’t matter now, as Eames’ voice continued from near his head. “Bring your fingers to your mouth. Run them over your lips. Suck two of them in and think about them being my fingers, pushing into your mouth. Run your tongue over them, get them nice and wet. I like it when you put things in your mouth. When you suck on your pen, or have a drink with a straw. You’re going to suck my cock like that, next time we meet. Suck it like you’re sucking your fingers now.”

Arthur wasn’t even aware of how his mouth was watering, how he was licking lewdly between his fingers. His eyes and thoughts were on the erection that stood straight up from his body now, demanding attention. 

“OK, now bend your knees,” Eames instructed. “Take those wet fingers and run them behind your bullocks. No touching your prick.”

Arthur groaned, his hand hesitating. It was stupid not to touch himself the way he wanted to now, it wasn’t as if he owed Eames anything. It would be better to wait, though. Better to heed Eames’ commands. 

“Don’t whine, Arthur,” Eames said sharply. “Just do as I say. Run your fingers around, notice where the skin changes. Feel how soft your are there, and how tight that muscle is. Don’t try to put your fingers inside, just rub the outside. Think about me loosening you up. I’ll use my tongue, I think. Lick you open slow, watch you squirm. Maybe I’ll tie you down, so you can’t touch yourself or move away, and lick and suck on you until you can’t decide whether to beg me to stop or beg me not to.”

Arthur groaned again, wanting to slide his fingers inside himself, wanting to use his other hand to work his cock, wanting to spread himself out for Eames and cede control. “Yes,” he breathed.

“Oh darling, you’re making such beautiful sounds now,” Eames encouraged. His voice was soft and husky, a near purr. “Tell me love, have you got some lube about?”

“Uh, yeah.” The immediate logistical concern pulled Arthur from his reverie. 

“Why don’t you get that, then?” Eames’ voice was amused and indulgent. “Slick up those fingers and put them back where they were. No touching your cock.”

Arthur did it, slicking his fingers and returning to his exploration, hoping like hell Eames would allow more soon.

“Since I’m not there with my tongue,” Eames resumed, “we’re going to have to improvise. Slide one of those lovely long fingers inside yourself. Tip your head back, feel it going in. Use your thumb to keep rubbing, open yourself up a little more.” After listening to Arthur’s changed breathing, he continued. “I think you really love taking it,” he said. “I hadn’t expected it of you, but I think that’s what you’re built for. That perfect arse, just opening up to take cock.” Eames sighed, and Arthur vaguely noticed a slight rustling. “Are you as open for everybody as you were for me, Arthur? Just that much of a slut for it?”

Arthur couldn’t help the noise he made, gasping and pushing down onto his fingers. 

“Oooh,” Eames said, sounding a little condescending now. “Do you like that? Being told what a slag you are? I know now, love. I know how to make you gag for it. I know you love taking it in your arse. I know you’ll let me do what I want, and you’ll love it.”

Arthur’s breath was coming fast. He was still valiantly ignoring his aching cock, but working his fingers hard into himself. He couldn’t quite get them where he wanted them to go, though. “Eames,” he whispered through gritted teeth. “I need to come.”

Eames laughed softly. “You need? I’m in charge here, Arthur. I tell you what you need. How many fingers have you shoved up your little arse?”

“Three,” Arthur panted. “But I can’t, quite…”

“Can’t reach, love?” Eames’ voice dripped with syrupy sympathy. “Next time, we’ll use something for that. For now, though, slow those fingers down. I can hear you finger-fucking yourself, nasty tart. You can keep using them, but use them slowly. Take your other hand, and run one finger--just one, Arthur--around the head of your cock.”

Arthur did as ordered and hissed at his own touch. He was straining hard, wet, so ready. 

“Good,” Eames said. “Now bring your finger to your mouth. Taste it for me.”

Arthur obediently licked the liquid from his finger, feeling it first on his lips, then his tongue. His other hand still moved in and out of his body in a slow rhythm. 

“I can’t wait to get that on my tongue,” Eames continued. “All your tastes. I’ll jerk you off and then lick you clean. But first, I want to fuck you. God, I want to shove your hand out of the way and push into you hard, pull your legs over my shoulders and pound you until you scream.”

There may have been a catch in Eames’ voice, but Arthur was too far gone to be sure. His finger stilled against his lips as he waited for his next instruction, breath caught in his chest.

“Wrap your hand around your cock, Arthur.” Eames’ voice was once again commanding. “Use your thumb to spread all that delicious wetness over it. Close your eyes and think about me buggering you, you under me with your prick in your hand. I can find the place your fingers can’t. I can ride that spot until you’re crazy, jerking yourself off and moaning my name. I can hear how hard you’re wanking--you’re going to be sore tomorrow. That’s what it will be like with me, too. I’ll fuck you until you can’t walk and you’ll beg for more.”

Arthur gasped and then moaned aloud, completely caught up. The orgasm overtook his body, shooting onto his belly and chest, his body rocking between the hand on his dick and the fingers inside him. “Fuck. Jesus fucking Christ.” He leaned back against the pillow and panted.

“God, Arthur, that was beautiful to hear.” Eames voice sounded a bit further away, as if he’d put the phone down. “Fucking gorgeous. Jesus.” He was breathing hard, too. 

“Eames?” Arthur asked a moment later, when he was recovered enough to speak. “Have you been…?”

“Of course I bloody have. You think I could listen to that and not have a wank? Are you mad?”

Arthur grinned. “That was...kind of incredible.” He felt silly saying it, but his brain to mouth filter didn’t quite seem to be working yet.

“I know.” The self-satisfaction was apparent. 

“Is this going to be weird?” As Arthur’s brain slowly came back, he was struck with the knowledge that Eames was nearly done in Australia, and in a couple of weeks, they’d be face-to-face.

“I expect so,” Eames replied smoothly. “But if you undo all of my hard work by worrying about that now, I am going to making a fucking tie out of your tongue.”  


Arthur laughed. “Not much chance. I’m so sleepy.” As he said it, he realized he was. He’d already closed his eyes and pulled the blankets back over himself, mindless even of the sticky mess on his belly. It could wait until the morning.

“Good,” Eames said. “Go to sleep, Arthur. All of your worries can wait.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please come visit me on [Tumblr](https://coffeewithconsequences.tumblr.com/) or read the rest of my fic here at [Archive of Our Own](http://archiveofourown.org/users/CoffeeWithConsequences/works)!


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